


long in the baking, never quite done

by Fictionalistic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Gen, Genderbend, Pie, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionalistic/pseuds/Fictionalistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas stops by with something for Deanna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long in the baking, never quite done

Deanna shifted uneasily in the motel bed, rolling onto her side to check the glowing green numbers on the alarm display for the fifth time in what felt like an hour (it had only been ten minutes). She shut her eyes, reading the bright imprint against the insides of her eye lids. 4:15 am. _Great_.

With a soft growl, she kicked away the thin sheets tangled around her legs, savoring a brief moment of cool relief from the summer heat before her skin prickled with warmth once more. Texas and its damn heat and its damn Ozark Howlers. Her ears still rang with the Howler’s amorous mating call - a monstrous hybrid between a moose’s low grunting and a donkey’s bray - and she worked to repress a shudder. She’d dealt with monsters trying to eat, maim, and/or kill her, but never before had she had to deal with a monster that wanted to _go steady with her_. For the most part, Ozark Howlers stuck to their own, but this one - _this one_ \- had been some kind of demented. And a bit blind. Thought that Deanna was a potential mate - how was _she_ to know that chopping off a limb was considered some kind of Howler courting proposal? 

Finally, after another bout of tossing and turning, she turned on the bedside lamp, propped her pillow against the headboard and scooted up to lean against it. Dad’s journal needed a bit of an update, specifically on the topic of What Not to Do When Encountering Lovesick Monsters. Deanna spared a glance at the empty bed beside hers. This writing thing was more Sam’s area, but Sam was in a nearby town, checking out a similar report of a hairless donkey attacking livestock. Maybe she should give him a call, let him know about the Howler mating etiquette. She grinned. Nah. Payback for taking her baby and leaving her car-less in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. 

Two paragraphs in (“Howlers are kinky. Really kinky.”), she paused mid-scrawl, bleary gaze lifting from the page as some savory scent wafted from somewhere..

“Cas.” The long dark shape in the shadows seemed to straighten up. 

“Deanna.” A second or two passed without further speech, and Deanna rolled her eyes. Typical. She set the journal back on the bedside table, slipped out of bed, and moved to turn on the ceiling lights. Artificial light flooded the room, and Deanna could then see the angel, the pale of her trench coat stark against the dark window she was standing in front of.

Castielle hadn’t moved an inch. Wide blue eyes, set in a pale heart-shaped face, managed to look impassive and puzzled at the same time as they settled on Deanna. 

“I meant to leave this without attracting your notice, Deanna.” “This” was presumably the foil-covered dish balanced across Cas’ upturned palms. 

Deanna felt inexplicable fondness at the sound of the dark-haired angel’s low, smooth voice. She huffed a laugh, padding back to sit on the bed. She braced her elbows against her knees and regarded Castielle with a wry smile. “I can see that, Cas. Any reason why?”

The angel remained silent, brow furrowing a little in consternation. Thin lips parted and remained open, words absent. Finally, her eyes shifted from Deanna down toward the covered dish in her hands, staring intensely at the dull silver foil as if searching for the words there. A long, dark brown curl fell against her cheek and she didn’t move a muscle as she felt the hair being moved, tucked gently behind her ear. Blue eyes met Deanna’s, their close proximity seemingly doubling the force behind the angel’s gaze, prompting the hunter to take half a step back. Deanna’s tanned skin took on a flush as something warmer than even Texas heat suffused her cheeks. She wasn’t sure what she was stepping back from, but she regretted it as soon as she moved away. 

“You like pie,” Castielle stated abruptly, as if the increase in the distance between them had returned to her coherent thought and speech. “This is pie. For you, Deanna.” She extended her arms until the dish balanced on her hands was within reach of the hunter. Cas blinked expectantly at Deanna.

Expecting wha— oh. Deanna took the edges of the plate, her fingers brushing against Cas’ as the angel dropped her hands. Carefully, she peeled back the foil, expecting pie and getting… “Pie?” _Shepherd’s pie_. 

“It is shepherd’s pie,” Cas confirmed. The furrow between her eyebrows was back again. While it wasn’t a blatantly hurt expression, Deanna still felt unease at the sight of it.

Deanna cleared her throat in an attempt to buy more time to clear the confusion from her face. She felt a grin spread across her face and though it was originally meant to reassure, she soon felt the grin become genuine with fondness. Cas brought her pie. Okay, it wasn’t the pie she was expecting, but still. Cas. Pie. For _her __._

The furrow was gone, thank god. When Deanna looked down at the savory, meat-y pie, a fork had appeared, speared through the middle. Castielle had lost the stillness in her form and to Deanna’s eyes, seemed to be shifting almost imperceptibly in restlessness. It seemed her angel was keen to leave. Like a goddamn pie fairy. Well, that was not going to happen.

“Pop a squat, Cas,” Deanna said, the arching of an eyebrow making the request into a demand. “And get another fork, willya?” 

Cas obediently took a seat on the bed, gathering the folds of her trench coat atop her lap. Another fork had appeared, impaling the casserole next to the first fork. Deanna sat down on the mattress, her weight creating a slight dip which drew her closer to Cas than she had intended. She set the uncovered dish between them. 

They set about eating the meat pie, Deanna with enthusiasm and Cas with much more restraint. The sounds of chewing and swallowing, which should have been awkward, only made Deanna feel.. content. Castielle was carefully cutting away each piece of the pie, setting it delicately into her mouth, and chewing with a thoughtful consideration. She seemed to be analyzing the pie more than enjoying the taste, but the analysis appeared to be fulfilling, judging from the interested gleam in Cas’ eyes and the angle at which her head was set. It was cute. 

“Deanna.”

Deanna, startled by the sudden utterance of her name, managed a “Yrrh whzzt?” around a mouthful of half-chewed pie. She swallowed, tamping down a rising burp. Licking her lips (and smirking when she noticed Cas sending a curious look at her mouth), she set down her fork and repeated more clearly, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“The.. ceiling, Deanna,” came the half-expected response. Deanna didn’t even bother rolling her eyes. 

“I mean, what did you want to tell me?” 

“Do you like the pie?”

“Yeah, Cas. It’s really good.” The corners of her eyes drew small wrinkles as she smiled at her angel. “Thanks. That all?”

Cas just blinked and went back to analys—eating neatly cut pieces of the pie. If, from a certain angle, it looked like Castielle was smiling, no one made a comment on it. 

—-

After she and Cas had finished off that large piece of shepherd’s pie, Cas had, in Deanna’s thoughts, “swanned off” and Deanna returned to the daunting task of trying to fall asleep in the Texas summer heat.

Deanna took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, counting lumbering Ozark Howlers in her head. _One ugly son-of-a-bitch, two ugly sons-of-bitches, three…_ A feather-light touch fell across her brow, and the feverish heat lifted from her body, allowing her to drift easily to sleep. She released a deep sigh, happily curling around her pillow. No nightmares would plague her tonight.

Cas stared at Deanna’s slumbering form, pondering over the sudden desire to touch Deanna’s forehead once more. This time just to sweep honey brown hair away from her shut eyes. It was an impulse that, to her surprise, she wanted to indulge. Instead, she closed her eyes and disappeared from the motel room once more.

_“Happy Birthday, Deanna.”_

—-

“It could be argued that there is an element of entertainment in every pie, as every pie is inherently a surprise by virtue of its crust.”

\- Janet Clarkson, _Pie: A Global History_


End file.
